Camaraderie
by The Prophet Lemonade
Summary: As long as I can hold a kunai, or throw a flash bomb... as long as I can risk my life to save yours, Young Master. LINFAN, childhood


**Author's Note: This pairing certainly doesn't get enough love for such a big fan base! Plus, Lan Fan is such an awesome character; so much so that she's my next cosplay project. There's some Fuu bashing in here, but I really do love him!**

**Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is a product of the fantastic Arakawa.**

**Title: Camaraderie**

* * *

_The honour of our clan relies on you, Lan Fan._

The stoic words of her grandfather echoed throughout her head, first quietly, but then louder and louder as the young assassin approached the imperial palace. The grandeur of such a building was hard to comprehend, and even though there were a dozen such palaces within the nation of Xing, the sight still left her in awe.

With its expansive gardens and taupe walls reaching for the limitless sky, Lan Fan decided it was only suitable for a prince.

Trained in the arts of combat and weaponry, and not in court etiquette, Lan Fan was not classed as an average child of ten. Her grandfather, a man with an infamous name on his head, had chosen to remove her from education, and focus on honing her skills to continue the family affiliation. She was a bright child, though her expertise was far from literature and the ways of the world; her agility and swipe with a kunai was almost unrivalled amongst her male peers.

Yet, she could not escape the beatings. Her grandfather's hand no longer stung her cheek, but she still felt pangs of guilt with every strike.

"How do you expect to protect anyone with abilities so half hearted?"

Perhaps it was only her grandfather's reputation talking, but his words drove her forward. In a field ruled by men, she strived to come out on top, and prove herself to her guardian.

In the two weeks succeeding her tenth birthday, a letter was delivered to her chambers, bearing the Yao insignia. Her grandfather had attempted indifference, and claimed that it was high time that his work was acknowledged, but, secretly, Lan Fan knew that he shared in the same pride that she felt.

"This is for you," her grandfather had then said, "Do not break it. It is the key weapon for those in our business."

The young assassin had been presented with a mask; it was light in stature, though formed from a ceramic base, painted with the colours of their clan. Lan Fan had felt her heart swell with gratification for the gift.

* * *

Her grandfather's presence weighed heavily upon her as they progressed along the high road, towards the palace, and the assassin was acutely aware of the steady rhythm of her horse's hooves on the cobbles.

From the contents of her letter, it was apparent that she was to be presented to a figure of high importance, to whom she was to swear her life to, in a binding oath, as per usual in the profession of her clan. It would be her duty to put her life in place of his, and risk life and limb in protecting his breath.

_This is what your life has been working towards, Lan Fan. _

The inner walls of the palace were not a sight a regular citizen was ever allowed to see, but Lan Fan was in no doubt that the walls would be her prison and her grave, in the years to come. Even the splendid terracotta bricks and exotic creepers reminded her only of a bird's cage.

Unbendable, inescapable.

A palace servant approached her grandfather with what could only be described as supreme caution; it was apparent that even here, in the solitude of this castle, the masks that they bore held an infamous, and feared, name.

The two assassins demounted their steeds with great grace, and started at a pace through the labyrinth of corridors that intertwined within the grand walls.

The interior of the imperial stronghold were far more impressive that the outer walls; talismans and immense tapestries were strung on the dark walls, illuminated by yellow light from beacons hung from low ceilings. The ornate design was a far cry from Lan Fan's humble family home and the dusty training grounds were she had spent the vast majority of her childhood.

Her ears registered a vague conversation between her grandfather and a steward, despite the wanderings of her mind; her senses were heightened to the point where she was constantly aware of every slight stimulus.

_Remember what I have taught you, Lan Fan._

The tour halted abruptly outside a pair of gamboge wooden doors, which towered substantially high above Lan Fan's head. Creaking anciently, the assassin was promptly ushered in, followed by her grandfather at a more controlled pace, for none dared to instruct him what to do.

Immediately, the old, greying assassin dropped to his knees, and pressed his wrinkled forehead to the decking; with a ferocious glare from her grandfather, Lan Fan, too, was bowed as low as she could possibly master.

From what Lan Fan was able to sense, she was aware of multiple presences within the rather ostentatious hall they had entered; a small dais had been erected under the west wall, currently bathed in the aureolin glow of this sun, seated a beautiful woman draped in expensive ropes of every spectrum. Myrtles, harlequins and striking ceruleans glinted in the soft light, brilliant in their colours against her white powdered face.

"Mister Fuu," she greeted in a sultry tone, "I am glad to see that you are still well."

Lan Fan's grandfather raised his head, so that his eyes connected with the woman's obsidian ones.

"Thank you kindly, madam," he replied, in that same, stoic tone that he so often used with his granddaughter. "It is also good to see that you are also in good health."

The greeting was highly formal, only as expected between a woman of high seating and her loyal servant. Lan Fan had heard many a rumour of her grandfather's life before he retired to teach her; he had held a high position within the court guard of the Yao clan for many years.

"I'm sure you're aware of your business here," the woman spoke, melodiously, "As a clan, our numbers are dwindling. It is only natural that I focus on the safety of my son…"

Lan Fan allowed herself to glance up, towards the dais, as a second figure approached the speaking woman. From that brief moment, she was aware of a boy, no older than herself, his long, jet black hair tied back, and an aimless expression plastered on his face.

"Young Master," her grandfather said, bowing low again, though the boy waved his formalities away with a flick of his wrist.

"What did I say about that, old man?" he yawned, with indifference and informality that surprised Lan Fan. "Calling me Ling is just fine."

The woman on the dais, undoubtedly Ling's mother, paled, and looked at her son with disdain.

"I'm sure you can see why I am concerned, mister Fuu. My son is the twelfth in line to the thrown of this country, and I would certainly like to see him strive for that position… yet, you, of all people, are probably most knowledgeable regarding the current rate of… assassinations within Xing."

Lan Fan's grandfather nodded, and finally gestured for his granddaughter to raise her head from the floor.

"As requested in your letter, I am here to present my heir to this cause. I hope that the skills I have provided you with will be enough to protect the Young Master's life. Lan Fan, please address the Young Master."

"It is an honour," Lan Fan murmured, drawing Ling's attention instantly to the companion of Fuu who had not spoken as of yet. He studied his new aid with scrutinizing eyes, paying particularly close attention to the ceramic mask that hid Lan Fan's face from his.

"Take of your mask, Lan Fan," he said, folding his arms in his jacket. His facial expression was difficult to read, but there was a decidedly sly gleam in his onyx eyes.

"I… I don't see how that is necessary, Young Master," Lan Fan stuttered, looking to her grandfather for assistance; it was not given to her, as the old man stared on.

"Yeah, it's totally necessary. Take off your mask; I want to see your face, Lan Fan."

The young prince began to saunter down the steps of the dais; Lan Fan felt all the blood in her body rush to her cheeks at once.

_He's going to take my mask off…!_

Ling stopped when he was within one foot of the young assassin, a distance far too close for comfort; his scent, a mixture of exotic, Xing perfumes and clean silk, filled her nose and throat, forcing her to stifle a cough.

"You're a bit stubborn, aren't you?" he frowned, crouching on his haunches so that their eyes were level, his dark irises boring into her own. "Take your mask off, Lan Fan."

Her grandfather shifted his weight onto his knees at that moment, and Lan Fan became painfully aware that everyone within the room was awaiting her obedience to the prince's request.

_The honour of our clan relies on you, Lan Fan._

Still, the words circled repeatedly in her mind, torturing, yet inescapable. Though, the prince's hand was fastest, for he reached for the mask first; the ceramic item came off easily in his strong hand.

"She's a girl!" he exclaimed, though whether his surprise was genuine or light hearted was debateable. By now, Lan Fan was sure her face must have been bright red, no doubt giving away her embarrassment in the intimate situation. However, the prince's next words changed her mood significantly.

"Hey, is this a practical joke, old man?"

Lan Fan cast her eyes downwards; she was familiar with the sexist stereotype that followed her profession, though, somewhere within her, she had hoped that it might not have followed her to the palace, where she was to spend the rest of her days.

"I don't see how my being a girl affects anything, Young Master," she mumbled, causing her grandfather's head to snap around suddenly, his eyes blazing fiercely. "I am perfectly capable in performing my duty, and I see that as the only thing that really matters in this situation…"

Ling's smile dropped, and he tilted his head as he listened, mimicking a bewildered puppy in his bemusement.

"Being a girl…" Lan Fan continued, feeling the blush return to her face once more, "I really did think that here, in this palace, I might be accepted for what I can do, rather than for who I am, on the outside, and all that. As long as I can hold a kunai, or throw a flash bomb… as long as I can risk my life to save yours, Young Master… I don't see how you can call that a practical joke."

There was silence in the hall, one that could be cut only with a knife, save for the subtle breathing of Ling, the one closest to herself.

"Lan Fan," her grandfather muttered, evident of his distaste at her choice of words. "Apologize to the Young Master. You were out of line and have brought shame on our clan."

The familiar pang of guilt stabbed at her abdomen, and the knowledge of the fact that she had ruined her chance and all of her grandfather's hard toil, pained her greatly.

"Mister Fuu," Ling interrupted then, meeting Lan Fan's sorrowful gaze. "Lan Fan is now my property, so it is only right that I should take full responsibility for her actions. After all, what is a king without his subjects?"

Lan Fan choked back her own tears, and returned her forehead to the floor, her hands in fists so tight that her knuckles grew pale and white.

"I was the one who spoke out of line," Ling added, with a meek shrug, "I was in the wrong to assume that, because of her gender, Lan Fan would not make a good guard. But, it appears that I was mistaken in that field; she is obviously quite worthy of your talents, mister Fuu."

The young prince returned to standing, and whilst cracking his joints from sitting awkwardly, he offered his hand to his new aid.

"Will you forgive me for talking ill of you, Lan Fan?"

Her mouth would not form the words she desired, so she could do nought more than nod from where she bowed. Ling's boyish face returned to an amused smile, and he could not help but let a laugh slip past his lips.

"I think I'm going to like you a lot, Lan Fan."

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